


Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and a Gentleman

by Megan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: bucketlist, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/pseuds/Megan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gentleman should not complain when adventure finds him, but surely there is a limit. In which there is time travel, fisticuffs, and a Hollywood romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and a Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Jake runs out of patience with this long-term and esoteric courtship ritual and decides to take matters into his own hands. Dirk, for once, loses his cool. Makeouts ensue!" on bucketlist. Went sort of off-prompt, because everything Jake does is magic to me.
> 
> Baselessly assumes that Jake is going to get time capsule'd to the future in the frog temple. Also assumes that everyone involved is capable of ridiculous moments of action movie badassery, because such is the world they inhabit. (In their heads, at least.)

A gentleman should not complain when adventure finds him, but surely there is a _limit_. You have been beaten within an inch of your life by that confounded machine of Strider's, been taunted by your own subconscious in regards to an azure Arachne who cannot possibly exist, had a highly awkward conversation with Jane that has left you as unsettled at being placed into the chum circle as you are relieved that you don't have to choose between two best friends you're rather romantically attracted to, gotten trapped in some kind of infernal contraption inside of the frog-bedecked temple you are beginning to regret ever exploring, and now that you've gotten out you find that not only is the _entire island flooded except for where you're standing_ , but there's an entire legion of angry beings who are presumably from either another planet or some sort of nebulous hell-dimension coming out of the distance _right towards you_. Given all of this, even the most enthusiastic adventurer is entitled to feel a bit cross.

You have had, dare you say it, the most _bloody awful day in the history of mankind_.

But however entitled to your current feelings of vexation you may be, the fact remains that you are obviously in either the past or the future, assuming you haven't gone to an entirely different planet or dimension (one cannot be too careful when dealing with ancient, mysterious devices found in remote temples, which is a lesson you will carry with you _forever_ after you survive this). You are equipped with nothing but your trusty pair of pistols and your satellite phone, everything else being safely tucked away in your sylladex and with no time to rearrange everything to fit after removing anything. There is nothing but water around you, unless one counts the tentacles that periodically rise from the water and wave with what can only be _menace and intent_. Still, this is not the end! The mysterious interlopers could be easily shot down, and tumble down to feed your newfound abyssal neighbor. Said cephalopod abomination could also turn out to be an unexpected ally and rip them down out of the sky with its fearsome tentacles, bound right for its horrifying maw. Perhaps you are in some battered and frosted dystopian future, and your friends have formed a resistance group fighting the tyrannical alien government; they'll descend from the skies in a helicopter any moment now. Strider will be hanging off a ladder, hand outstretched to pull you up in a dramatic rescue while Jane takes the pilot's seat and Roxy guns down the enemy. Any number of things could turn this in your favor; you _cannot_ give up yet.

Still, you holster one pistol and pull out your mobile. While you would never give up, you must also be prepared for any contingency.

 

_gutsyGumshoe - last online three years ago_

_timaeusTestified - ONLINE_

_tipsyGnostalgic - last online five minutes ago_

 

For you, it's been perhaps fifteen minutes since you last spoke to Jane. According to the network log, it's been years. Still, you know Strider is alive, and that as of five minutes ago Roxy had been as well. Having to grab the ladder yourself while Strider pilots the helicopter is not nearly so attractive a fantasy as your first one, but there is no way on Earth anyone would allow Roxy Lalonde to drive so much as a bicycle. Now you can message him and let him know you're alive, and that you are in rather a sticky situation at just this moment. And perhaps, if there's an appropriate lull in running for you lives, you can approach the subject of how you've both survived this aqueous hell-world and there really is no better time than the present— given the precariousness of your shared circumstance— to discuss your mutual attraction.

 

_timaeusTestified has gone offline._

 

Oh, _hell_.

Nothing doing, then; you'll just have to take care of yourself. Away goes the mobile, out comes the second pistol, and you brace your feet on the roof of the frog temple and gauge your line of fire.

The first one drops after a single shot; whatever they are (and the closer they get, the worse they look— now that they're within shooting range, they look like they're out for blood), they aren't armored with anything a nine millimeter bullet won't pierce. And then another one goes down, and another; you haven't been practicing your shooting on the ferocious wildlife of the island for nothing! Still, even you cannot remain blind to the inevitability of the situation forever: you are going to run out of bullets, and they are going to swarm you in numbers too great to shoot. Which one happens first seems to in the hands of chance, that fickle mistress.

Until the sky over your head darkens, anyway; a ship is passing over your head. Apparently, whatever juggernaut spawned these horrors has decided that more of them are required to snuff out your overly tenacious existence. It's in the shadow that your doom is decided: you're out of bullets, and you haven't _nearly_ finished off enough of them to stand a sporting chance at it without a weapon. Still, you holster your faithful companions and raise your fists, ready to face them with your bare hands.

"I warn you, I shall not make it easy for you!" You shout up in the direction of the ship, because if there is any intelligence at all to be had in this swarm of drone-like creatures it almost certainly resides there. "Stop cowering in your battleship and face me under the rules of engagement, you coward!"

" _Heeey, sailor!_ " The battleship calls down with a giggle.

The aliens start disintegrating, as if someone's just hit them with a bloody _laser_. Honestly, that sort of weaponry is cheating, not sporting in the slightest, but you can't bring yourself to care. The ship is descending, monsters dropping as it goes, and as it reaches eye level you see none other than Roxy Lalonde standing behind some sort of _massive cannon_ (and oh, goodness, who would have ever given her command over such a weapon, skill with a rifle or not?). She salutes at you, and you're so stunned you give her a salute right back.

It's right about then that one of the horned monstrosities lands in front of you; evidently Roxy's missed one in her bizarre intoxicated savant moment with the flying golden battleship's cannon. If you weren't so preoccupied with the fact that an alien is trying to tear your throat out and you're rather frantically flailing about trying to dodge its claws you would recognize that sentence for what it is, which is to say _progressively more ludicrous with every passing word_. Instead you worry about important things, like grabbing the thing's head and holding on for dear life as it goes for your throat with its teeth.

" _Dirk!_ " Roxy is yelling something besides Strider's name and you can hear other people in a chorus behind her, but you're rather more concerned with the fact you are wrestling what is essentially a twenty stone wrecking machine _covered with knives_. You manage to get back onto your feet, still holding the thing at arm's length; you silently thank every single moment of recoil you've ever had for preparing your arms for their titanic battle with this monster's horn-studded headbutting, because your muscles are the only things standing between you and being skewered like a boar for the roasting.

And then suddenly all the resistance is gone and you're stumbling forward into the blood spraying from the stump where the thing's head had been just an instant before. Said cranium is _still in your hands_.

"Hey," Strider says, and shoves the body aside. He has, for all appearances, _leapt from the battleship down to where you're standing and taken out the monster in one stroke_.

You're standing on top of the temple, clutching a severed alien head by the horns and looking right at Dirk Strider. He's inches away from you; if either one of you leaned forward just the slightest bit, you would bump noses. He's panting with exertion, katana dripping with dull-colored alien blood where he's just decapitated the chap you'd been pushing away from your throat. You're also dripping with the resultant mess, which is admittedly a less than dashing way to end this— but everything _else_ is exactly as it should be for a hero's ending, and thus you can't complain _too_ much. It would be ungrateful and unseemly.

"You _do_ know how to make an entrance, Strider," you say, and _blast_ it all, you sound breathless and awestruck and not at all like someone who's just stood up to what must be an alien invasion force. For his part, Strider looks like you've just said something terribly confusing, and starts to turn away. This is the perfect moment, and the cad is _wasting_ it.

_Confound it all_ , sometimes even a gentleman has to aggress to get what he wants. You reach out with your free hand and take Strider by the front of his shirt; he starts to say something, but you cut him off by pulling him down and _kissing_ him. He drops his sword in surprise, but he doesn't pull away from you— quite to the contrary, he brings one hand up to your face to tilt your chin up (because of _course_ he would have the exceedingly good luck to be just a bit taller than you are) and settles the other one at the small of your back. Quite frankly, it's _shockingly_ intimate for someone who just a moment ago had been turning away at your sporting attempt at sweeping him off his feet; he's holding onto you without a bit of concern for the fact you're covered in the remains of a giant insect from outer space.

Everything about this is _absolutely capital_.

"What prompted _that?_ " Strider asks you when the two of you separate to breathe, nose pressed to your cheek as if he doesn't want to move away even for something so vital.

"If you have to ask me that, your education has not been _nearly_ ecumenical enough." You laugh a little bit, giddy with the head rush of everything that's happened in the past twelve hours, and you're just opening your mouth to his again when someone calls out to you.

"Hey, don't do that in front of the poor sea monster! _He's going to get jealous!_ " You lift your head away from Strider's to see Roxy hanging precariously over the railing, waving at the both of you.

That doesn't precisely _kill_ the moment, but it does make you realize that there are more urgent matters at hand than kissing the life out of your dashing rescuer. You still need to find out what happened to Jane— who is conspicuously absent from the railing with Roxy, which is the most distressing thing about this entire day— and get away from here before more of these accursed monsters show up. And find out how Dirk and Roxy got into the future, and who in the world is on their _flying battleship_ with them.

"…holy _shit_ ," Strider says, voice suddenly gone reverent when you step back from one another.

"What in blazes is that supposed to mean?" You ask, and then you realize you're still holding onto the severed head. He's probably referring to that tiny, insignificant detail— perhaps he realizes, as you have, what a _magnificent skull trophy_ this will be. You are keeping it, no matter what anyone has to say about it.

"You're so fucking Hollywood, and you're not even _trying_." He stoops to pick up his sword, and when he stands up again he puts his other arm around your shoulders. "Hey, Roxy, you want to stop worrying about that kraken's feelings and toss us the rope?"


End file.
